H is for Hope
by TheSpectrum890
Summary: Serene Williams is a strange girl even before her letter from Hogwarts arrives, spinning her life around yet again.She meets the Potter family,the Weasley family,and many more,and although no adventures await her,drama can be dangerous.Rated for reasons.
1. Chapter 1

H is for Hope

_PROLOGUE_

_ Have any of you wondered if the H on the flags and all that were _only_ for Hogwarts? What if it was for _more_ than that? Like, H for heroes, or H for honesty? Or maybe even H for huggable or for honorable? I mean, no one has actually asked someone, "Is the H on the flags just for Hogwarts, or for something else?" so we don't know. I always wondered, seeing those banners in the Great Hall. It's quite a mystery, but no mystery can last forever._

"Nine and three-quarters? Are you mad, you unintelligent little dog?" my mother asks. I roll my eyes and show her the ticket.

"Well. The only place between platforms nine and ten is the wall," my father spits out. We're standing at King's Cross, seeing my aunt off. We had gotten the letter to go to Hogwarts the day before, while my great-aunt Jessica was visiting. We had decided to check out platform nine and three-quarters, but it doesn't seem like we can.

"I bet this is just some prank. Wizards don't exist, and if you're half coherent you'd know that!" Mother snarls.

She's got to be wrong. The only thing I find curious is that we needed spellbooks and a wand and a cauldron and all that wizardy stuff. I don't exactly think I could stop at a regular store and buy it.

"What do I do?" I murmur under my breath. "I can't just go to Target and buy this stuff." The letter was clenched in my fist.

Mother and Father scowl at me and tell me they're going to go get some lunch. I nod and step over to a bench and sit down heavily. I watch my parents leave the station gloomily. This whole experience is so horrible. I have no idea where on Earth I can get any of this! _The Standard Book of Spells, The History of Magic, Magical Theory_! How do I find all this?

A woman sits next to me after a little while. She has her graying hair tied in a tight bun, and she looks down at me with a superior air about her.

"Are you all right, child?" she asks.

"Not really," I admit. "I've been told to get things that most convenient stores probably won't sell in a million years."

"Like what?" she asks.

I shrug. "Stuff for a school that I might go to. Books, a uniform, all that stuff. These are special, though, so…"

"Is that the list?" she inquires, nodding at the paper in my hand.

I nod. "Yeah. If you want to look at it, go ahead. You won't believe a word of it. I hardly do."

She takes the parchment when I hold it out to her. She reads through it, and a small smile creeps across her lips. "I think you might want to try the Leaky Cauldron. Ask someone how to get to Diagon Alley. They'll help."

I recall seeing that name on a shabby old sign between a bookstore and a record store. I hardly remember how to get there, but before I can say anything, there's a _crack_ and the lady is gone. I see my parents coming in my general direction with grocery bags in their hands, but I don't really want to speak to them. Honestly, I don't really want to see them at all, and being Friday, the station is crowded. I pull out the black fedora men's hat I keep in the white leather bag I carry around, shove my long black hair into it, and jam it onto my head. I then pull dark glasses from by bag and slide them behind my ears. Buttoning up my black leather trench coat, which goes past my knees, I look just like a guy. A guy without parents, but a guy. Only my name distinguished me—Serene Williams. I stand and stride into the nearest crowd, moving with their fast-paced flow. I hear my father boom my name, but I lower my head and keep walking. People give me funny looks as they jostle past me, but I just walk faster until I'm heading up the stairs. My parents only know that I have a very popular yet old type of coat, not the hat or the bag. If they saw me, they'd never suspect a thing.

I step into the fresh-ish air, grinning my naturally perfect white teeth. My feet carry my as swiftly as I can walk to the nearest bus stop, but I don't get what I expect. A huge triple-decker bus barrels through all the cars without hitting one of them, stopping in front of me. No one else seems to notice it, and a guy looks down at me when the door opens.

"Where to?" he asks.

"A place called Diagon Alley. Do you know where that is?" I ask.

He scoffs. "Sure, I know where it is! What wizard doesn't? Now, are you going to get on, or what?"

I scurry up the steps and see various couches and chairs, many with people sitting on them. They all wear robes and most read a newspaper called the _Daily Prophet._ I shrug and have just sat down in a seat at the front, when the bus jolts into motion, making me fall right out of my seat.

"Whoa!" I shout, pushing my face from the carpeted floor with a ghost of a scowl. A man walks over to me calmly despite the lurching bus and helps me up, smiling at me levelly.

"Where are your parents, son?" he asks. He has ruffled black hair and circular glasses.

"They're back at the station," I say, not bothering to correct him about the 'son.' He tilts his head slightly.

"What? Why?" he asks.

I shrug, sitting back down as the bus jerked forward. "Mostly because 1) they hate me, and 2) they hate me."

He glances back at the back of the bus and sits down next to me. "I'm sure they don't hate you."

"I'm sure they do."

"Dad! _Dad!_" a girl shouts from the back. She runs up to the man.

"Yes, Lily?" the man asks calmly.

"Where've you been? I mean, we've all been wondering what you're doing," she retries, blushing.

The man states that he's been talking to me, and the girl, Lily, drags him by the hand back to his family. I gaze rearward at them, fighting back the tears that threaten my eyes. They all seem so happy, the two boys, the little girl, the parents. With another jounce, the bus driver shouts, "DIAGON ALLEY!" and stops jerkily. I grab a metal pole next to me to keep from soaring from my seat again, standing and getting off the bus.

A very busy alley stands before me, with a large marble building at the very end of it. I see people in robes all over the place, and I see some people holding out coins of gold, silver, and bronze to their children. I bite my lip and think _No money. Right, _as I walk along. Signs hang from the front of the stores, reading names like _Flourish and Blotts _and _Quality Quidditch Supplies. _More passersby give me strange looks while I stand there, gaping soundlessly and motionlessly at the towering walls around me.

"Need anything, laddie?" a woman asks me. I nod, but she's already walking away. I hope to death that this marble building is a bank and that they give loans.

As I step into the building, I see the family again. They stand there at the counter, talking to the creature behind it.

"Yes, yes, I know! Now please, we still need to get things for James," the man says impatiently.

"I see. Well, you'll just have to forebear the thought that we're very busy, so you'll need to wait," says the creature.

"How long?" the woman asks. She has long, strait orange hair, more auburn, and holds the little girl's hand.

"About an hour and a half," answers the creature without glancing at the clock.

"An hour and a half?" exclaims the older boy, astonished. "We don't have that long, do we, Mum?"

"Yes, we do," says the mother. "Just… read. Reading is always good."

"Mum!" the younger boy whined. "I don't wanna read!"

Meanwhile, the girl was pulling out a book and opening it, as was the older boy. They all moved out of the way and sat down on a marble bench on one wall. I stepped into the line and waited. When he finally told all the people in front of me how long they'd have to wait, the creature says, "Welcome to Gringotts bank, how can I help you," in a monotone.

"Do you give out loans?" I ask timidly.

"Muggle-born, eh? No matter. Where're your parents, boy?" the thing asks.

"Gone," I answer, " I ditched them."

"Well then, yes, we give out loans to students at Hogwarts. Your letter?" it asks, holding out a hand. I reach into my organized bag and pull it out, handing it to the thing. It examines it before handing it back to me, grunting out, "You will have to wait and hour and thirty-seven minutes, please take a seat and do not leave the building."

I sit about ten feet down the bench from the oldest boy. He looks at his family quickly before scooting down to sit by me.

"I hear you ditched your parents?" he asks.

I nod. "Only because they hate me and I hate them so much I decided I wouldn't let them control me anymore."

He whistles. "Wow. I'm impressed." He holds out a hand. "I'm James, James Potter."

I take it, shaking. "I'm Serene Williams. Nice to meet you."

He gasps a bit. "So you're a girl?"

I roll my eyes. "No _duh._"

He looks stubborn, pursing his lips. "Fine. Show me you're a girl. All girls have too long of hair to be a guy's."

I comply, taking of my hat while shaking my waist-long hair out. The uneven red tips brush the marble below; I had dyed the tips of my hair and my neck-long bangs two weeks ago permanently to show that I don't care what my parents wanted me to be like. He gapes at it, and then he grins. "Okay, Merlin, you're blowing me away with all this rebel-ness. Okay, take off the shades. Girls have girly eyelashes."

So I do. I pull off my shades and reveal my natural violet eyes. He stares into them, his mouth opening the slightest bit. "No contacts?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. They're natural. Not to my parents. They think I wear contacts, even though I was born with these. Like I said, they hate my guts."

He laughs. "Okay. Do you want to meet my family?" he asks, seeming to sense their staring. I shrug and he leads me over to them. "Okay, this is my mom, Ginny, this is my dad, Harry, this is my little brother, Albus, and this is my little sister, Lily," he explains, gesturing to each person in turn. I nod and smile as Mr. Potter shakes my hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," says the woman, Ginny, shaking my hand.

"You, too," I say, stepping back. James nods at me and asks, "So how old are you?"

"Eleven," I answer.

"Oh," he says, "I'm thirteen. This will be my third year."

"Don't worry!" pipes up Lily, "This is my first year too… umm… James! What's her name?"

"Serene Williams!" James announces as if he's known me for years (Which, of course, he hasn't). "She used to be a Death Eater!" he adds to Albus, whose eyes get wide.

Mr. Potter probably would've looked more surprised than he does if he hasn't seen my hair, but he does seem a bit startled at my eyes as he casts James a dark look. I smile at him and go back to sit down at the edge of the bench. James follows me and examines me, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. He seems much more mature than he probably is.

"Now, look, once we get our money, let's ditch my mum and dad and my siblings. It'll be cool; we have to go to the same stores anyway, and I can help you get your stuff, too!" he whispers to me excitedly. I grin, but I say, "What would your parents do?"

"Oh, they won't mind!" he says, waving a hand. "Hagrid is wandering around the alley, and so are people who used to be in the Order of the Phoenix! Dad and Mum know we'll be just fine!"

I shrug. "I don't see a problem with me going, but won't your brother and sister want to come?"

"They're pansies!" he insists. "Come on, we're old enough! My dad said last year that it had been nineteen years since You-Know-Who was alive, so it's been twenty, now! I can tell _you're_ not as much of a scardy-cat as they are! So in…" he glances at the clock, "ten minutes, me and my family will probably come out, and in fifteen they'll be done giving you a loan 'cause they don't need to leave the ground floor for that! I'll convince Mum and Dad to wait for you, and then we'll get out to the alley and go!

"Plus," he adds in an undertone, "I stole this cloak from my Dad! It'll make us invisible until we're out of their sight!"

"Wow!" I say, "Perfect! I wish I had one of those!"

"You don't need one, you have that disguise. Don't wear it, though, 'cause they've seen you like that. Tie your hair up and take off that coat and all that," he suggests. I reach into my bag and pull out a hairtie, slipping it on my wrist. I rake a small travel brush through my hair so it'll be ready to put up later. By this time, the Potter family has been called to get their money, so I just wait, marveling in James and my plan. When the thing—I think it might be a goblin—calls me up, I walk up to it with a grin. He guides me down a maze of hallways until we get to a room full of silver, gold, and bronze coins. He hands me 100 galleons with a, "I'm sure this'll be enough."

By the time I'm back out of the marble maze, the Potter family is waiting for me near the entrance, James completely composed. Only his eyes give away his excitement. He smirks at me in a knowing way, as if he knows a secret and I'm in on it, as I walk towards the family.

"James wanted us to wait for you, since you were alone. It's very strange of our James to suggest something like this, but we thought it was a good idea, right, Harry?" Mrs. Potter says. Mr. Potter nods and beckons us out the door. I see James beginning to slip something out of his pocket, and his hand was invisible. I glanced at his parents, and they haven't noticed. We've just emerged in the more-crowded-than-ever alley when Mr. and Mrs. Potter see a friend of theirs and they begin a happy conversation with them. Lily and Albus converse with their children, and no one is paying us any attention. Next thing I know, I'm being swept into a rushing section of the crowd. James seems to think that he can't do this little trick without me, and he reaches out before I'm too far away and grabs my wrist. I clasp my fingers around his and yank, dragging him along the wave with me. By the time we can get away from it, we're at the Flourish and Blotts place I saw earlier.

"Quick, put up your hair!" breathes James. I pull my hair up as high on the back of my head as it'll go, which it about level with the tops of my eyes. I then take off my coat, fold it with one hand and a forearm, and slip it into my bag. I'm wearing a plain black long-sleeve shirt that's form-fitting but still a bit loose and black skinny jeans. My Osiris are pink and black **{Look on my profile for these}**, so my whole outfit is pretty epic.

"Whoa," James says, taking me in and pulling off the cloak, shoving it in his pocket. I'm used to this reaction, along with people calling me Goth, so I just roll my eyes and enter Flourish and Blotts. It's a bookstore, with shelves stacked to the ceiling. Kids and their parents examine the books, occasionally yelling out and grabbing one. I look down at my list while James looks at his, and once we've got them memorized we look for them together. James guides me to where he found his first books, and I help him look around for his. When we're ready, with stacks of books in our arms, we go to the counter, buy them, and walk to the back of the store.

"We can't carry all this; let's just put them all in my bag," I offer, sliding in mine one by one. While all eight were in and I grab for James' stack, my bag hadn't been bulging in the slightest. It looks the same as it had when I walked into Diagon Alley, and this fact makes James look filled with wonder. He just watches as I smoothly place all his books in my bag with mine and pick it up again, shrugging the strap over my head so that it's across my chest. I can't feel a difference in the weight.

"Where did you get that?" James asks once we're out of the store.

"Some really short guy gave it to me. He had a squeaky voice. He just said, 'A gift from a friend,' handed it to me, and walked away. I really liked it, and I still do, so I kept it."

"Reason enough, I guess. Sounds a lot like Professor Flitwick, to me," James muses.

So we move on. I buy all I need and he buys all he needs until all I need left are some robes and my wand. James beams at me in a way that creeps me out a little bit, until he says something that proclaims why.

"Maybe I could watch you try them on, eh?" he attempts with that same smirk. I stare at him incredulously.

"So that's what's got you acting so weird!" I exclaim, whacking his shoulder lightly. He grins and says, "Oh yeah. Maybe I can help you with it, too."

At this, I smack him across the face. His head jolts to the side before he turns back to me, grinning bigger than ever.

"That's all right. I like a girl with some zest."

I stalk into the store, trailed by James. About half an hour later, we walk back out of it, both with new robes (his had started to show his ankles). When we get back to the front of the Alley, I see Ollivander's. The two of us race in and we see Ollivander himself, examining a fresh-looking wand behind the desk. He looks up at our entrance.

"And who might you be?" he asks. I introduce James and myself and he nods in remembrance. "Yes, yes. Unicorn hair from a particularly smirky male. 11½ inches, a little springy, oak, if my memory is correct, and it always is. Now, what can I do for you, young lady?"

"I need a wand," I say firmly.

So he leaves and scrolls through the boxes. He makes me try tons and tons of wands, all disasters. Finally, in the very, very back of the store, where he 'almost never needs to go,' he drags out a box with little stick figure doodles on it.

"This is one of the first wands I ever made. Dragon heartstring. 14¾ inches. Black walnut. Try it out," he says, pulling out a long black wand. I grasp it and am immediately filled with campfire-warmth. Huge firework-size sparks emerge from the tip. I beam at James and Ollivander and pay for the wand, tucking it in my bag.

When we leave the store, the Leaky Cauldron is waiting for us, warm and welcoming. Inside are four people who don't look as nice as the place itself. Harry and Ginny Potter accompanied by the two friends that they were talking to earlier glare at us from a table near the corner. I glance at James to see his brown eyes wide and his bottom lip being gnawed. I throw him a quick smile that says _I'll handle this_ and I walk up to the table.

"Look, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, I asked him to come with me. I didn't want to cause you that much trouble, and I knew you all had just gotten money, so we went and got all we needed on our own. I'm really sorry for talking him into it; it's all my fault. Please don't yell at him or punish him because he was just being kind. Really. I swear. The only one who should be punished is me," I explain. The part about me talking him into it is, of course, a lie, and I'm already being punished by the world because I have no other family apart from my parents, who are probably going to beat me harder than ever before if I go home, so I'll be stuck on the streets until September first, so I guess no punishment is _really _necessary.

"Harry…" said Mrs. Potter, looking at Mr. Potter. He sighs, rubbing his neck.

"Look, Serene, why not you catch a Muggle—non-magic folk, that is—bus and go home to your parents. I'm sure they're worried," he says with a firm look at James, who just walked up next to me.

"See, Mr. Potter, the problem with that is… well, my parents hate me. They beat me, knowing all too well that's it's illegal. Seeing as I ran away, they're going to… I don't even want to _imagine_ what they're going to do, and I imagine my bloody body on the sidewalk. I don't have many happy choices here, really, but I guess ya gotta do what ya gotta do."

The Potters stare at me. I shrug and walk out of the bar to the nearest bus stop, searching for the coins I always find on the sidewalk in this area. I find a few, decide it'll be enough, and wait for the bus to arrive. This time, it's not the big, weird one, but a small, normal one. I climb on, pay the driver, and wait, watching the Leaky Cauldron to speed away behind me, along with Harry, Ginny, Albus, Lily, and James Potter.

**DSICLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS APART FROM SERENE WILLIAMS AND HER PARENTS.**


	2. Chapter 2

_THE POTTERS_

"Are we just gonna let her leave?" Albus mutters. "I liked her."

"Mum, being beaten is like being murdered, right?" Lily asks.

"No, honey, being beaten is like being hurt," Ginny says, staring after the Muggle bus that the rebellious girl had gotten on.

"Oh. So her dad and her mum are gonna hurt her?" Lily asks, her brow furrowing.

Ginny nods. "Yes. They are."

"Sometimes," Harry whispers, "being beaten by someone who should love you is worse than death."

"So why are we all still standing here?" James exclaims, "She's going to an hour or more of her life that'll be worse than death! Shouldn't we go after her?" He gestures with his hands in the direction the bus drove off to.

"No," Harry says firmly. "She seems like a strong girl. She'll be fine."

"Dad!" James shouts. "What happened to you? I thought you wanted the best for everyone!"

"I do. James, stay out of it. If she ran away, she deserves her punishment."

"Harry…" Ginny begins, "What about you? You ran away, if my memory serves me right."

Mr. Potter stares at his family. "No," he says finally, "We're going home. End of story."

So they go to the space next to the bus stop, wait for the Knight Bus, and climb on.

All but one. The oldest child of Harry and Ginny Potter stays, hidden beneath a cloak that causes him to become invisible, twiddling his thumbs until the next Muggle bus comes.

_I'm going to rescue Serene, _James Potter II thinks, _even if they won't._

…

_SERENE POV_

I stare at the maroon door that leads to the entrance hall in my large house. Through the tall windows on either side of the door, I see… articles of clothing? Yes, strewn about the floor, pieces of clothing are scattered. I open the door quietly, wincing at the suction-y noise it makes as it opens and closes. Once inside, I study the clothing. There's the shirt Mum was wearing, the one Dad was wearing, the _pants_ that Mum and Dad were wearing… Mum's bra and underwear and Dad's boxers. This proclaims without words what's probably happening in Mum and Dad's room.

I hear a loud, drawn-out moan. A grunt follows that. I creep up the stairs, past the closed door of my parents' bedroom and into mine. I silently throw the door of my room wide to see something I probably wasn't supposed to. My mother and father lay naked on my twin bed, my father on top of my mother, moving up and down.

"Mum? Dad?" I gasp involuntarily. They freeze in their actions; Mother pulls up my sheets to cover herself and Father grabs one of my pillows to do the same.

"What are you _doing?_" I ask. It's totally clear what they're doing, but the words just flow from my lips.

Mum's face hardens. "Get out. OUT!"

"But this is my room!" I shout, astounded. "You can't kick me out of my own room!"

"Either you leave now and don't get beaten until later or stay and be beaten even harder now," Father snarls.

I plant my feet firmly on the carpeted flooring. "No," I say, "I'm staying. This is my room. You allowed me to own this one section of the house, and I plan to keeping it that way!"

Father stands, letting the pillow fall. I stare right into his eyes. "You _dare _defy my orders?" he shouts.

"Yes, I do!" I answer, louder still, "I have every right to defy your orders! You can't boss me around! Look at the state _you're_ in!"

His nostrils flare and his eyes pop out. "Go to your room! I don't want you out until next week!"

"I AM in my room!" Is my quick answer. "I don't plan on leaving it, either, until I have my stuff!"

"You're not going anywhere!" Mother shouts, grabbing a weak bedpost of mine and ripping it from the base, scattering splinters of the frail wood. She grabs another and throws it at my father, who grabs that along with my throat as I try to run. He whacks me across the back with it, hard, when Mother joins in. She smacks me with the splintered end on my cheek, snapping my head sideways while Father continues to bash my spine. I feel blood run from my cheek, but Mother continues. They hit me again and again, sneering at the splinters slipping into my skin and the slits they caused. I end up curled on the floor, filled with splinters and soaking in blood, while my parents continue their earlier actions. I crawl out of the doorway, scarlet tears streaming from my eyes, and I close the door. I can hardly stand; that was the worst beating I've gotten in my life. I stand anyway, wincing and gasping with every step, until I'm at the stairs. With every stair, I lower myself with one hand on the railing and the other on the wall until I'm at the bottom. I limp to the kitchen, grab some water bottles to throw in my bag, and I see money on the counter. A thick wad of the stuff. I snatch it up and shove it in one of the front pockets of my used-to-be pure white bag, which has been stained with blood. Once I have all I'll probably be able to live on until September first, I hobble out the front door and begin my walk.

I recall a small abandoned house I used to hide in from my parents as a younger child. I walk unevenly down the sidewalk, stumbling often and falling even more. Finally I find a deserted skateboard and climb on, bending low to keep my failing balance. I ride the rest of the way to the old wooden house all the other children call haunted, and once I'm there, I bite my lip and climb through the window.

The place inside is one of the dirtiest places I've seen. The tarps laid over the furniture are gray, the formerly red rug is now what looks to be a dark brown, and the paint is peeling from the walls. I don't care. This place is a sanctuary. I hobble up the stairs to the master bedroom, casting my bag to the side. I rip the tarp from the four-poster king-size bed to see it not even close to being as dusty as the rest. It has new sheets and blankets and pillows and a (heavy) new mattress. I had stolen all this from the attic in my house, using a wagon to get it all here. I grab the edge of all the blankets, flipping them into the air to get all the dust off. I set them back up again and pat the pillows. Once I'm finished, I plop onto the bed and lay there, shivering and pale and bleeding. Soon, however, I hear a loud cracking noise and an, "Oh, _shit!_ Er, _crap!_"

The voice is familiar. I sit up instantly; calling loudly enough that my voice carries downstairs, "James?"

The noises cease. "Serene? Do you live here?"

I stand up, stumbling slightly, and make my way back downstairs. "No, I don't. This is my hidey-hole!"

I can imagine his puzzled face. "Hidey-hole?" he asks.

"Yeah, hidey-hole. I'm on my way down, just be patient!" I say, descending the stairs painfully. I see James emerge from behind the wall at the bottom, squinting up at me.

"Were you painting?" he asks as I'm almost down.

"No, I was bleeding. And still am," I answer almost casually as I step to the floor.

"Oh, Merlin! You should really have those looked at…" James says, goggling at my various wounds and bruises.

"I already am. Your staring is creeping me out."

"Your _BLOOD_ is creeping me out! Come on, we have to go to my parents!"

"I'll be fine. Really," I say, but I wobble a bit on my feet. James grabs my arm gently and steadies me. I thank him and walk to the sitting room, ripping the tarp from the couch. I sit, followed by James.

He gazes at me worriedly. "You're coming home with me. Where's your bag?" he adds as I start to protest. I tell him and he races up to get it. When he comes back, I grab it and search through it, pulling out a water bottle and a handkerchief. I pour some of the water on it and start to clean my cuts, but James stops me.

"Let me," he suggests, and I relax again while he concentrates on my face injuries. I wince and gasp with pain, but he just apologizes and keeps going until all the ones that are showing aren't bloody, or as bloody. He then helps me walk out the door and to the bus stop, where he allows me to lean on him heavily. I can feel how much blood I've lost now. When the bus finally comes, I grab a bit of money and hand it to the driver and we take seats in the front so that I won't have to walk as far. After a long ride, we're back at the bus stop near the Leaky Cauldron.

"I think it'll be best to rent a room here," James says as we stand in front of the Leaky Cauldron. I agree, and we walk in. Almost no one in here except a gang of witches is one corner and the owner.

"James Potter the second," he says, "And a lady friend, eh? What can I do for you? Where are your parents?"

James gulps. "Yeah, Tom, this is Serene. She hasn't been to Hogwarts yet. Oh, and my parents are probably looking for me. Can we have a room, and can you tell them where we are?"

"Of course, young Potter." James can only afford one room, so he rents it, thanks Tom, and helps me up the stairs. We find the room and enter, only to find a bed and a desk. I rip a blanket from the bed, set it up on the floor, and then I toss a pillow weakly at James, who catches it and throws it at the tip of the blanket. He gives me a worried glance before taking off his jacket and sitting on the pillow. I take off my coat, set my bag on the floor next to it, and kick off my shoes, snuggling into the blankets.

"Hey, James?" I ask tentatively.

"Yeah, Serene?"

"Does this mean we're friends?"

He laughs. "Well, duh. What else would we be, enemies? After all that?"

I attempt a shrug but give up. "Maybe."

He laughs again. "You're weird."

"You're weirder."

"Am not!"

But I'm already asleep.

…

The next morning, we wake up, get ready again, and leave the room. James runs right into a group of people, and I run into him, shouting in pain and falling to the floor with another yell. I glare up at the in-the-way-ers to see the Potter family. I tuck my hair behind my ears. I try to stand, I really do, but James ends up with his hands under my arms and hoisting me up. I stagger, but I remain standing while Mrs. Potter, Lily and Albus stare at me anxiously.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mrs. Potter asks.

"No," I say honestly. "I was beaten by my parents with broken wooden poles, had to walk three blocks, had to ride a bus for an hour, had to walk in here, up the stairs, and sleep on a rock-hard bed. It's hard to be okay when you're filled with splinters, too," I add after a glimpse of the steady trickle of blood that's begun to flow from a cut at the top of my cheek.

"I never learned healing spells, and I'm afraid to seal it because of the splinters. St. Mungo's?" Mrs. Potter suggests.

Mr. Potter shakes his head. "They're for magical injuries. This is bad, but not that bad. This would be for someone like Madam Pomfrey. She'd probably be done with her by this time…"

"Why not we send for her?" Albus suggests.

"No, no. Let's see if Hannah will know something," Mrs. Potter offers.

"That's the best we'll get, I suppose," Mr. Potter says, walking towards the end of the hall to the biggest door. He knocks and a pretty woman answers.

"Ye—oh, Harry! What a good morning to you!" Hannah says. A groggy-looking man emerges behind her.

"Wassgoin' on?" he asks sleepily.

"Neville, my good friend! How are you?" Mr. Potter asks the man.

"Oh, fine, fine… oh, goodness, girl! What happened to you?" To Mr. Potter, he adds, "She looks like me when I first saw you before the Battle of Hogwarts, eh?"

Even quieter, Mr. Potter answers, "Even worse," earning him a whack from Mrs. Potter.

Meanwhile, Hannah is ushering me inside their room. It's bigger and nicer-looking than the one we have, and when she sits me down on the plush maroon couch, I sink into it. She pulls out a wand and waves it at me, mouthing a few words. The splinters are snatched from my skin painlessly and my wounds seal. The only sign that they ever existed is the scars from the deeper cuts and the blood.

"Sorry, dear, that's the best I can do. I hope you'll be all right with a few pink lines here and there," she says with full sympathy and pity. I don't want her pity, though, and I don't answer. I can understand that my life sucks, but honestly, I had absolutely no idea what I was missing out on. Now, looking at James joke around with Albus and Lily, watching Mr. and Mrs. Potter smile and chat with Neville, I feel like I could cry. I fight back the tears; no matter how much I might 'deserve' a chance to let them flow. No one should ever actually need a chance to cry. Never.

Suddenly, I'm swaying, even though I'm not standing. I fall back against the back of the couch, my head falling back in drowsiness. Before last night, I haven't slept in more than a week. I'd sincerely love to have more than five hours' sleep after so long without anything more than a few catnaps.

Mrs. Potter helps me to my feet. "You can rest when we get home, Serene."

Mr. Potter mutters, "Kreacher, can you come here for a moment? I have a request."

A creature appears in the room, with so many folds in its skin it looks like a paper that was crumpled, opened, crumpled, and opened again a thousand times over. It has white hair protruding from its long, triangular ears. It has a few white hairs on its head, and it wears a raggedy towel around its waist. When it speaks, it has a very, very deep, croaky voice.

"Yes, Harry Potter? How can Kreacher serve Harry Potter today, sir?" the thing asks.

"That's our house-elf, Kreacher," James whispers in my ear. "He's, like, in love with Dad. I'm pretty sure he gave Kreacher a fake locket thing that belonged to one of his favorite old masters and he's been nice ever since."

I tip my head to one side slightly. "Huh."

"Kreacher, would you mind preparing a nice room for our guest? She'll be staying with us until September first," Mr. Potter says.

"Oh, yes, sir. Kreacher will make the room a delight, sir. Kreacher will clean the sheets and he will dust out the drawers and he will make everything perfect for Harry Potter's guest, sir," the house-elf agrees eagerly, vanishing from sight.

"It's nice to have him," Mr. Potter mutters, grasping Lily's hand. Albus grabs his other hand. James grabs Mrs. Potter's hand, instructing me to do the same. Mrs. Potter clutches my hand firmly, squeezing softly, and then a feeling washes over me. It's very, very unpleasant, as if something is pushing my eyes inside my skull, as if my ear-drums were being popped thousands of times over, as if someone has caught me with a metal lasso and is pulling on my chest. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me (trust me, I know the feeling) and for a fraction of a second, blackness is so dark it literally feels like it's suffocating me. And, just as it feels like it can't get any worse, it stops. I can breathe again. I can see again. I can hear again.

"Well, it's not much, but it's enough," James mumbles. I step back and admire it. The cottage is medium-sized, but it radiates warmth. I gape at it for a few seconds until I realize that everyone except James and me have gone inside. I shake off my amazement and follow him in through the large wooden door, closing it behind me gently. The room I've stepped into is a cozy one, with plush armchairs and a long couch, both a nice chestnut. A fire glows in the hearth, warming the room. A pretty, delicate rug adorns the shiny wood floor, occupied by Lily and Mrs. Potter, who relax in front of the comforting flames. I see a short hallway, branching off with an open doorway and a closed door. If I have to guess, I'd say the open doorway leads to the kitchen and the other to Mr. and Mrs. Potter's room. A staircase spirals up to the next floor, but the weirdest part is, it actually _spirals. _James leads me up this after he shows me where to put my boots; the sensation makes me a bit dizzy.

Now we're in a longer hallway with five doors: one to my immediate right, one a bit farther down to the left, one a bit past that on the right, one past that to the left, and one at the very end of the hall. From behind this door appears Kreacher, and at the sight of James and me he rushes up and ushers me to the last room.

"Oh, Kreacher does hope that Harry Potter's guest enjoys the room Kreacher has prepared. Kreacher has done some research, Kreacher has. Kreacher knows what this pleasant guest will enjoy. Kreacher will leave the young master and his guest to their own matters, now." With this last sentence, Kreacher leaves us in the room. I look around.

It's the room I sketched out when I was bored last month. The walls are black with vibrant purple and blue spots, matching the bed comforter and pillowcase. There's a small desk in the corner with a laptop and a lamp. The carpet is a light gray, fluffy and lovely to walk on. The best part is: there's none of the clutter my parents had thrown in my room for storage. None. There's a little bookshelf, yes, and a shelf on the wall that has little Skelanimals on it, but apart from that, it's clean as a whistle (I've never understood this simile, I mean, not all whistles are clean).

I rush up to the bed and pounce on it. It sinks in, and I'm certain it's one of those fancy form-fitting mattresses. I glance up at James, who's standing there in the doorway a bit awkwardly, and he smiles at me and leaves the room. I don't bother slipping under the blankets before falling into a deep, brilliant sleep.

**A/N= I know it's too dramatic for an 11 year old, but who gives a crap? I needed something to write about.**


	3. I'm Sorry Guys!

**Hey everyone… I'm back. Right now. At least, for one story. I know, I know, I've got like 3 going right now; I can't cover them all. And recently… well, reading can't hold my attention right now. I don't know why. So I'm sorry. All stories except my new one (to feed my addiction) are to be postponed. How long? Maybe… summer? If inspiration suddenly comes to me (I highly doubt it), I promise you, I'll update. Cross my heart. Now, my friends, I apologize. **

**Onto my next topic. I have recently developed an obsession with a British show called Doctor Who. If any of you have heard of it, that's fantastic (;D) and for those who haven't, I pity you… But anyway, I'm starting a new story. If I get enough reviews and crap, I'll definitely make it with the girl as a companion, not just a regular chick off the streets with serious luck issues. Otherwise, it'll just be the girl and the Doctor for a bit (It'll take place after Donna, before his regeneration, because David Tennant is brilliant!). **

**Now, I must say… adieu! Ciao! Hola! Pleasant day! **

**Love, Nicki :3 **


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